The Jonathan Zizmors

Among the innovations with which patrons of the New York City subway system have recently been faced—rising fares, the puzzling and unsatisfying introduction of the V line—perhaps the most startling are the new advertisements for the dermatological services of Dr. Jonathan Zizmor, who has been promising relief from unsightly bumps and ashy skin to subterranean travellers since the early eighties. Gone is the scary before-and-after shot; instead, the new ad, which had its début in May, features a nightscape of indeterminate skyscrapers and includes not just a photograph of the ageless Dr. Z but a picture showing a handsome woman in a big pale hat, and a slogan that reads, “Doctor and Mrs. Zizmor Salute New Yorkers for Their Strength and Courage.”

Naturally, this raises two questions: Why are we being saluted now, twenty-one months after our peak of courageousness? But, first, where has Mrs. Zizmor been hiding all our lives?

Well, Mrs. Zizmor explained over tea at the Four Seasons Hotel last week, she was being Mrs. Friedman, during her first marriage, which ended eight years ago, and before that she was being Ms. Alexandra Levin. (Dr. Z’s previous marriage also ended in divorce.) “We have only been married for two years,” she said, speaking from under a dramatic, wide-brimmed straw hat, which is one of about a hundred hats she owns. Mrs. Zizmor has beautiful skin and the self-possession that suggests a career on the stage, though she was, until recently, a sales and marketing consultant for technology companies. Every now and then, she took the hand of Dr. Zizmor, who sat next to her and looked on with admiration. He has a pallid complexion and russet-colored hair, and was wearing a tie printed with the subway map.

The Zizmors met when each was having dinner with friends at the Four Seasons restaurant and the proximity of their tables led to conversation. “The first thing I thought when I met him was, He’s normal, and he’s really, really smart,” said Mrs. Zizmor, who is forty-four years old, which makes her fourteen years younger than the real Dr. Zizmor, though about the same age as his subway representation. “I’m from Chicago, so I had no idea who Dr. Zizmor was. I told a friend of mine, and she said, ‘Zizmor! Jonathan Zizmor! He’s a big guy!’ I said, O.K., but I didn’t really get it.”

“She had never been on the subway,” Dr. Zizmor, who speaks in a shy mumble, said.

During their first date, at Le Cirque, she mistakenly ordered two entrées instead of an appetizer and an entrée. “But he didn’t say a word,” she said. “He had a lot of class, and he let it go.”

“And she ordered milk,” Dr. Zizmor said.

“With dessert,” Mrs. Zizmor said. “You have to have milk with cake.”

Their third date took place on Dr. Zizmor’s birthday. “I took him out to dinner, and I gave him his starter hat, his first chapeau,” she recounted. “He never wears it. I said, ‘What would be your ultimate birthday gift?’ And he said, ‘To be married by my birthday next year to you.’ ” Six months later, they were married in a suite at the Plaza; Mrs. Zizmor’s subway photograph was taken just before the ceremony. “When we got married, we were in love, but it was nothing compared to now,” Dr. Zizmor said.

“The bottom line is we enjoy each other,” Mrs. Zizmor said. “It’s easy. We are a little different on the outside presentation, but built very similarly.”

Not long after their honeymoon—Lake Como, Zurich, and Lugano—Mrs. Zizmor persuaded the reluctant Dr. Zizmor to leave Manhattan, where he had always lived, in favor of Riverdale. “We had a huge fight, but I really love it now,” he said.

“We bought the house to entertain and throw functions,” Mrs. Zizmor explained. “I just threw a Guardian Angels fund-raiser in our home, for Curtis Sliwa. We want to have great thinkers, and host parties that have authors.”

“Our rabbi uses the house for meetings,” Dr. Zizmor said. “This is going to sound weird, but we want to use it for world peace. We are going to invite people who hate each other, and they will spend a weekend together.”

So why did it take Dr. Zizmor until the late spring of 2003 to issue his salute to New Yorkers? “What happened was we thought of it after September 11th,” he said. “We wanted to do something, but we never got around to doing it. New Yorkers have been through a lot—the bad economy and the violence. When you get on the subway every day, it’s an act of courage.”

Including Mrs. Zizmor in the ad was a way of paying tribute to the city’s residents, Dr. Zizmor said, and he explained, “This is how it came out of my brain: New York is a big family, and I want to show my family.” Now Mrs. Zizmor, whose name on her credit card already causes double takes, has started to be recognized in her own right. “The delicatessen guy, slicing the meat at Fine & Schapiro, said, ‘I saw you,’ and I said, ‘Oh, really?’ ” she said. But her celebrity, she pointed out, is nothing compared with her husband’s. “Women knock him down! With skin questions!” she said.

“People, in a way, love me,” Dr. Zizmor said. “It’s really amazing.”

“I think they have a warm feeling,” Mrs. Zizmor said. “People like things that stick around.”

“They see my face all the time,” he said.

“Your punim,” Mrs. Zizmor said fondly.

“My punim,” Dr. Zizmor said, with satisfaction.

Sign up for the daily newsletter.Sign up for the daily newsletter: the best of The New Yorker every day.